Take What You Have Gathered from Coincidence
by tearsofamiko
Summary: Kevin's warm weight heavy and trusting against his side, Gaila tracing soothing patterns over his knee, Bones' eyes steady, solemn, promising endless things in the fresh light of the young day.


Title: Take What You Have Gathered from Coincidence

Author: tearsofamiko

Fandom: Star Trek XI

Rating: PG

Character(s): Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy (with mentions of Gaila, Gary Mitchell, and Kevin Riley)

Summary: Kevin's warm weight heavy and trusting against his side, Gaila tracing soothing patterns over his knee, Bones' eyes steady, solemn, promising endless things in the fresh light of the young day.

A/N: This was actually an idea posed by re-white, one I just couldn't let go. I hope she doesn't mind.

.:::.

He blinks awake to the sound of guitar chords. Played softly, barely audibly in the cottony hush of the room, Jim almost thinks he's dreaming them, until a slight shift nearby catches his attention and he peers with bleary eyes through the watery shadows to find the source of the music.

Bones is seated at the other end of the mattress, back against the headboard, left foot pressed lightly against Jim's right shin. He looks tired, peaceful, relaxed in his jeans and t-shirt, cradling Gary's old acoustic guitar in his lap as he coaxes the notes out of the warm wood.

"You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last. But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast."

His voice is soft, husky and mellow, a low almost-mournful counterpoint to the gentle chords he strokes from the guitar strings. It's an old song, folksy and absolutely appealing, coated as it is in Bones' lazy Southern drawl. Jim lets his eyes drift shut at the sound, absentmindedly carding his fingers through Kevin's hair as the kid shifts restlessly next to him, mumbling slightly against Jim's thigh as he settles deeper into sleep.

"This sky, too, is folding under you. And it's all over now, Baby Blue."

The syllables drag and pull against each other as Bones sings. Jim grins slightly, eyes still closed, as Bones' toes tap gently against his leg, marking a steady time as he plays simple chords for a while, letting the song trail off for a little bit, only an echo of the melody curling around the edges of the notes. The shadows deepen in the corners of the room, hiding the empty beer cans and bottles, covering the few people passed out in various positions around the room, all remnants of the previous night's Epic After-Finals Party. (Jim still isn't sure how they'd managed to fit that many people onto the _floor_, much less into Gary's room.)

Gradually, the guitar chords drift back into the original song and Bones picks up the lyrics again, voice softer, raw as he hums between lines. There's a murmur of sound from the general direction of Jim's knee, drawing his attention away from Bones long enough to realize Gaila's humming along, quietly under the guitar. She smiles up at Jim and rests her temple against his knee, the harmony in her voice trilling up and down the scales, all perfectly in tune with Bones.

"Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you. Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you."

Jim feels a chill, eyes flying to find Bones watching him, hazel eyes unreadable in the low light. Gaila squeezes his knee and presses a kiss to the denim there, her touch as reassuring as the warmth in Bones' voice. A soft cough from across the room and Gary nods solemnly at him as Bones' playing slows, becoming more serious, more haunting.

"Strike another match, go start anew. And it's all over now, Baby Blue."

The music degrades into soft arpeggios, seeming to echo in the soft-gold-shadows of the room, light and dark at the same time as the sun clears the horizon and spills into the room. Kevin's warm weight heavy and trusting against his side, Gaila tracing soothing patterns over his knee, Bones' eyes steady, solemn, promising endless things in the fresh light of the young day – it all reverberates in him and through him, woven with the lingering notes of an old folk song sung in a honeyed drawl. They wind their way through him, threading through the fabric of his very being as his eyes drop shut again and he drifts off to one last chord.

"It's all over now, Baby Blue."


End file.
